


Indefinite

by Aenova



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Obsession, Smut, slightly ooc!Sherlock, sub!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 00:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1205359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenova/pseuds/Aenova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Moriarty's obsession towards each other isn't just about killing one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Until Next Time

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, they belong to BBC, Moffat, Gatiss and other lovely people in the working team + Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who originally created them. I don't get any money or other benefits for writing this, it's purely for my own amusement. :)
> 
> English isn't my first language, so if any mistakes are to be seen, I'm very sorry.

The second Sherlock had heard the words 'not guilty', he'd gotten up from his chair, put some water boiling and set the tea tray onto the living room table. He'd known Moriarty would be coming, because the criminal would've never sidestepped an opportunity to show his powers to his enemies like this.

It hadn't been more than six minutes forty-seven seconds before Sherlock had heard the stairs squeaking.

Ever since they'd met at the pool, Sherlock had been obsessed. He knew it worked both ways, so he didn't mock himself about it too much. They were too alike, him and Moriarty, and both knew each other too well. Sherlock needed the thrill, the danger that Moriarty brought with him, and even though the hatred between them was almost overwhelming, neither one of them could've stepped away. It would continue like this, until the day one of them would die - or mostlikely, both of them.

He had his violin in his left hand when he heard the door behind him opening. He stopped playing and stared out of the window. His heart started racing instantly, his body recognized who was present.

"Most people knock", he said without turning around. "Well then, you're not most people, I suppose." He took a deep breath, still not turning around, not ready to face his arch nemesis, his obsession. "Kettle's just boiled", he informed as nonchalantly as he could, waving towards it.

He listened to Moriarty's footsteps as the man walked further into the flat. 

"Johann Sebastian would be appalled", Moriarty commented. Sherlock observed the man through a mirror in front of him, saw him grab one of the red apples they had in a bowl on the sofa table. After a moment of silence, Moriarty glanced around the flat calmly. "May I?"

Sherlock finally turned to face Moriarty, his well-groomed appearance. The criminal was dressed in a grey Reiss suit and his onyx eyes were staring hungrily at Sherlock. "Please", the detective answered and pointed towards John's armchair.

Like always, Moriarty had to show that he was the one telling orders, so he walked past the chair Sherlock pointed towards and sat on the one opposite of it. Sherlock glared at the man but didn't comment.

"You know, when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son on the piano playing one of his pieces", Moriarty spoke with his low, dark voice. Sherlock sighed internally and poured water to one of the tea cups. "When the boy stopped before he got to the end -"

"The dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it", Sherlock completed the other man's sentence.

"Couldn't cope with an unfinished melody", the criminal said carelessly, rolling the apple around in his hand.

"Neither can you", Sherlock said, "that's why you've come." He lifted the tea cup to his hand and turned around to give it to Moriarty.

"Oh, be honest, you're just a tiny bit pleased", Moriarty answered with a mockering tone, a smirk spreading to his lips.

"What, with the verdict?" Sherlock asked and frowned. Moriarty reached to take the tea Sherlock was offering to him and looked into his enemy's eyes. The gaze was burning, it pierced through Sherlock like a hot knife through butter, torching him to ashes. He answered the gaze the best he could, feeling a shiver run through his body. It was this, exactly this, that kept him so obsessed. And Moriarty knew that.

"With me", Moriarty said with a smug smirk, "back on the streets." He stared at Sherlock without even blinking an eye, keeping his grin mockering and confident. "Every fairytail needs a good old-fashioned villain."

Sherlock frowned as he looked at the criminal, looking up at him, lips curved so that he looked almost too excited. He didn't answer Moriarty's words and walked back to John's armchair, sitting down himself.

"You need me", Moriarty continued, but this time turned his gaze to his tea cup. "Or you're nothing." He then went to observing as Sherlock poured himself some tea. "Because we're just alike, you and I. Except you're boring", the criminal huffed. He shook his head. "You're on the side of the angels."

Even though Sherlock felt slightly appalled for being called boring, he couldn't help but let himself admire the way Moriarty was speaking. The way his words smoothly slid out of his mouth, dark and husky, his Irish accent running through them enticingly. The voice ran along Sherlock's spine, sending shivers through him constantly, and although he tried not to show it, he was sure Moriarty knew. The man knew everything.

Suddenly his own words visited his mind. Jim Moriarty is not a man. He's a spider. It was almost too true; the criminal mastermind made Sherlock dance just like he wanted him to, creeped in the back of Sherlock's mind, shady and mysterious, ready to attack. Except that every movement he made was an attack, in a way.

Sherlock felt his heart start racing again and needed to change the subject. "Got to the jury, of course?"

Moriarty's smirk was back as he looked at Sherlock. "If I got into the Tower of London, you think I can't worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?" he asked. 

Sherlock sighed again as he realized. "Cable network", he stated and rolled his eyes almost unnoticeably.

"Every hotel room has a personalized TV-screen", Moriarty nodded. "And every person has their pressure point - someone that they want to protect from harm." He brought the tea cup to his lips. "Easy-peasy", he almost whispered, his lips lingering on the edge of the porcelaine container.

Sherlock stared for a moment before shrugging. "So how're you gonna do it?" he asked. "Burn me?"

The truth was, he didn't need an answer. He already knew the answer. It was written all over Moriarty's eyes as he stared at his nemesis, a sharp look on his face. This was it, already. He already was burning Sherlock, one piece at a time. So smooth and subtle, no normal person would've noticed it. Sherlock did, and he couldn't help but admire the genious in front of him; he kept things interesting, kept Sherlock obsessed so that he couldn't do anything to stop himself from burning.

Moriarty chuckled and took a small sip from his tea. His eyes seemed even darker than they normally were as he eyed Sherlock from head to toe, measuring him, devouring him with his gaze. His eyes screamed sex, making Sherlock take a deep breath.

"Well, that's the problem", Moriarty sighed and his lips curved into a one-sided smile. "The final problem. Have you worked out what it is yet?" he asked. Sherlock frowned slightly as he looked at the criminal. After a moment of silence, Moriarty continued: "What's the final problem?" 

Sherlock didn't answer anything. He'd already known that there was still something Moriarty was planning on, something more than emotionally and mentally burning Sherlock. But he didn't know what it was.

"I did tell you", Moriarty smirked, looking smug and satisfied that he was still way ahead. Like Sherlock could ever catch him. "But did you listen?" the criminal sing-songed.

Sherlock stared into the soul-less, onyx eyes and thought. 

Moriarty was observing Sherlock's brainwork, enjoying the sight of a confused consulting detective. A sight that very few were able to see, because the consulting detective was almost never confused.

"How hard do you find it? Having to say 'I don't know'?" Moriarty asked after a while of silence and eye contact. Sherlock was slightly disturbed because of the look in Moriarty's eyes, clearly undressing Sherlock mentally.

"I don't know", Sherlock decided to answer and put down his tea cup, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh, that's clever, that's very clever, awfully clever, well done", Moriarty mockered.

Sherlock looked at him, Moriarty looked back and they fell into silence. Though it wasn't that much of a silence, really - both of them knew somehow what the other one was thinking about, Sherlock read Moriarty's eyes and vice versa. It was in a way intense, to just sit and look, think, hope.

"Speaking of clever", Moriarty then continued, "have you told your little friends yet?"

The question made Sherlock freeze. Moriarty's eyes had a spark in them, a teasing little light as he smirked and waited for an answer. Sherlock's heart started racing, his breath went uneasy - he knew perfectly well that Moriarty was not talking about this soundless connection between them, their obsession. But still, the thought of the others finding out... while it wouldn't be totally catastrophic, it would be very undesireable.

"Told them what?" Sherlock set on asking and pressed his fingertips together.

"Why I broke into all those places and never took anything", Moriarty clarified, clearly amused after seeing Sherlock's reaction to his well-formed sentence.

"No", Sherlock answered bluntly.

"But you understand."

"Obviously."

"Off you go, then", Moriarty urged.

"You want me to tell you what you already know?" Sherlock asked. He was all too busy taking in every single detail about Moriarty's looks - although he'd already memorized them. Too many times.

"No", Moriarty said, "I want you to prove that you know it."

"You didn't take anything, because you don't need to." Well, that was obviously true. Moriarty didn't need anything from the Tower of London, he didn't need anything from the Bank of England nor the Pentonville Prison. He'd just wanted to show off his talents. Very Moriarty-like.

"Good", the criminal said with a tone that told Sherlock to go on.

"You don't need to take anything, ever again."

"Very good", Moriarty said and nodded, "because..."

"Because nothing", Sherlock started and answered Moriarty's burning gaze, "nothing in the Bank of England, the Tower of London or Pentonville Prison could possibly match the value of the key that can get you into all three."

Moriarty seemed a bit smug as he looked at Sherlock slightly under his eyelashes. "I can open any door, anywhere, with a few tiny lines of computer code." He smirked and shook his head. "There's no such thing as a private bank account now, they're all mine. No such thing as secrecy, I own secrecy." Sherlock frowned again as he looked at his nemesis. "Nuclear codes? I could blow up Nato in alphabetical order."

They looked at each other, Sherlock's eyes practically eating Moriarty. Even though the thought about this kind of power was frightening, especially in the hands of this psychopath, it was another thing to add thrill to their little game.

"In the world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king", Moriarty said. His lips curved for another pleased grin. "And honey, you should see me in a crown."

Sherlock flinched slightly at the pet name and tried to pass it casually. He raised an eyebrow. "You were advertising, all the way through the trial, you were showing the world what you can do."

Of course. He should've realized it sooner. He'd known from the beginning that breaking into the high-security buildings was showing off, but he hadn't thought about it like this before. Moriarty would get hundreds of new clients for this, for showing that he could steal the crown jewels and get away with it.

"And you were helping", Moriarty noted with a mockering tone. Sherlock stared at him with slightly narrowed eyes. "Big client list. Rogue governments, intelligence communities, terrorist cells", the criminal listed, "they all want me. Suddenly, I'm mister Sex."

Well, that Sherlock couldn't deny. He only looked at Moriarty with hunger, his eyes telling his enemy that he positively agreed with his clients, that in a way, he was one of them.

"You can break into any bank, what do you care about the highest bidder?" he asked, trying to keep his thoughts calm and normal. Moriarty was reading him like an open book, and was probably the only person in the whole wide world who was capable of doing so.

"I don't, I just like to watch them all competing. 'Daddy loves me the best!' Aren't ordinary people adorable?" Moriarty asked, chuckling. "Well, you know. You've got John", he continued. A flash of jealousy visited his eyes, quickly enough that an average person wouldn't see it. Sherlock knew that Moriarty hated John, didn't like him being around. The detective thought that Moriarty must've seen the same as other people; they all thought John Watson and Sherlock Holmes weren't platonic. "I should get myself a live-in one", Moriarty considered out loud, frowning.

"Why are you doing all this?" Sherlock asked. 

"It'd be so funny..." Moriarty muttered, not listening to Sherlock's question.

"You don't want money or power, not really..." the detective however continued. His eyes fixated on the apple in Moriarty's hands; the criminal stuck his knife into it like he was just in his thoughts. Sherlock knew better. "What is it all for?"

"I want to solve the problem", Moriarty answered, leaning forward. "Our problem", he added, nodding, "the final problem." Sherlock frowned as yet again the same topic arose. Moriarty sighed and shook his head. With his gaze in his hands, he continued: "It's gonna start very soon, Sherlock. The fall." He glanced at the detective in front of him. "But don't be scared; falling's just like flying, except there's a more permanent destination."

Their eyes met again for a long, intensive and dark gaze. Moriarty's eyebrows furrowed slightly and he looked a bit intimidating. Sherlock stared back as long as he could, feeling his heartbeat all too clearly. 

Finally he stood up from John's chair and closed the jacket he was wearing, still not removing his gaze from his enemy. "I never liked riddles", he commented as calmly as he could.

Moriarty stood up, too. He was way too close, his face was way too confident and his eyes were way too black. They looked at each other, their chests practically touching, Sherlock's breath uneven. It was as if Moriarty were pinning Sherlock down to the ground by his feet with his thumb, telling him exactly what to do and when, controlling every single thought he had. It was all written on his face, the authoritetic look in his eyes and the way he stood before Sherlock, knowing that he could do it all if he wanted to.

"Learn to", the criminal said harshly. "Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock." His gaze went from Sherlock's eyes to his lips before slowly returning. "I. Owe. You."

Sherlock stared. Continued staring. He was itching to move forward, to get contact, to do anything because the look Moriarty was giving to him was too much. Dominating, powerful, lustful. Sherlock swallowed and then sighed, trying to think about what his enemy meant with his words.

Before he could ask anything, before anything else could happen, Moriarty walked away. As he passed the detective, he brought his hand to trace the man's side briefly. It meant everything to Sherlock. It was a message. It told him that the game was on, that Moriarty would be back, that it would all happen soon.

He wasn't quite sure if he liked that or not.


	2. Puzzle After Puzzle

'It's gonna start very soon, Sherlock. The fall.'

The words spun around in the detective's mind. The fall. The fall. The fall. No matter how he tried to think about it, it didn't make any sense. Clearly, it was about something Sherlock would have to realize later, something that he maybe wouldn't like that much, or maybe something he'd definetely like.

He had no idea. That was why the words were the single thing he'd thought about during the past two days.

There were no cases at the time, nothing out of the ordinary - how boring - nothing that Sherlock could've kept himself busy with. He'd tried to do different kind of researches on anything he'd gotten out of the morgue to his own apartment, but in the end, his concentration was only on one man.

Moriarty knew his business, knew how to keep Sherlock on a leash. The detective was sure Moriarty was keeping an eye on him, watching him squirm while he tried to think of an answer. After all, that was what Jim Moriarty loved to do the most in the world. Well, aside of blowing people up or setting up a murder. But then again, after he'd do those things, he'd go back to observing Sherlock's work, watching as the man tried to solve his very own little puzzles he loved to keep his enemy occupied with.

Sherlock was sure nobody else in the world would understand their obsession towards one another. Nobody would think that it was normal, and maybe it wasn't, but when had Sherlock ever thought that he or Jim Moriarty were normal human beings?

He sighed as he stared out of the window, sitting on his armchair. He'd decided to just wait. Moriarty would contact him sooner or later, through a dead person or face to face. Either one was good to Sherlock, although he did like face to face better. Then he was able to observe the onyx eyes, the little twitches on his nemesis' mouth corners, the movement of his fingertips -

Oh, God, he couldn't wait.

Sherlock closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. He knew he was being pathetic, but as he couldn't do anything about it, he didn't complain. Moriarty had him on a leash, and that was it.

The man almost jumped up from his chair as he heard his phone beep due to a new message. He hurried to retrieve it from his coat pocket, looking at the screen.

One new message. From a number he didn't have on his contact list. He frowned as he pressed the screen to read it - it wasn't from John or Lestrade or Mycroft, so the only thing it could be -

So, have you figured it out yet? JM

Sherlock almost let a smirk spread to his lips as he returned to the armchair with his phone in his hand, staring at the words. 

It was disappointing that he had to write a prohibitive answer to the question, but he couldn't lie.

Not just yet, I'm working on it. SH

He pressed 'send' and began to wait. He knew Moriarty would continue, that he wouldn't just send one message and leave it there. 

After a minute, the phone beeped again.

Oh, poor Sherlock. I'd love to give you a clue, but I think I'll let you incubate just a little while longer. How's the little doctor? JM

Why would you care about John's well-being? SH

Getting jealous, are we? JM

Sherlock huffed. He thought about not answering at all, because what was he supposed to say? Moriarty knew everything Sherlock had to say about it, and it was clear that he had no interest in Sherlock's answer.

Don't be ludicrous. SH

He frowned as he pressed 'send' and gazed out of the window. John wasn't at home and Moriarty was asking about his well-being - usually this would indicate that either the criminal had kidnapped John or he was about to.

Now, now, don't worry. I haven't done anything to your little pet. You do get all too sentimental when it comes to him. JM

Getting jealous, are we? SH

Sherlock almost smirked at his own clever answer, but didn't bother as he knew Moriarty still had the higher state.

Of course I am, darling. If little doctor were to touch you, I might just have to destroy him. JM

The detective stared at the words. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to react to them. Of course, he was already completely aware about Moriarty's insane possessiveness, and when you mixed it up with his psychopathy and access to many weapons, bombs and criminal communities, the threat was very real.

Why the silent treatment, honey? You know I wouldn't let anybody else touch you. You're my property. I own you. You do know that, don't you? JM

Sherlock startled a bit as the second message arrived already and frowned as he read it. His heart started to race again and he swallowed.

What makes you so sure about it? SH

The question was good enough for Sherlock. Even though it was just useless playing around.

Uh-uh, Sherlock. You're smarter than that. JM

Too smart to ask a perfectly legit question? SH

You know you are. I wouldn't be so fascinated if it weren't for your intelligence. JM

Sherlock shook his head. He felt weak. Weaker than he was supposed to. He was a strong character, had always been, and it wasn't going to change. Except when it came to his arch nemesis. Moriarty twisted him around his pinkie and squeezed him into a small, pathetic being which he controlled as he liked to.

If you don't believe it yet, Sherlock, I can show you. I can make you feel it. I can make you feel how it feels to be someone's property. And I will. JM

Sherlock gulped and closed his eyes again for a while. He decided to answer with sarcasm, so he'd maybe be able to keep his dignity for a single moment more.

How very kind of you. SH

It is, isn't it? You look so adorable when you're blushing. I'm gonna love to see what you look like when you're whining and begging. JM

This was getting too far. Sherlock felt his trousers getting tighter and his heartbeat quicken all too much. He had to change the subject somehow, but what would be the way to do it, since he couldn't get his thoughts straight enough to even write a reply.

The doctor isn't home, is he? Maybe I could pay you a visit right away. Would you like that? JM

Sherlock almost moaned out loud as he thought about it. His mind quickly went to the subject of 'how does he know John is not home' but he decided to leave it. Of course he knew.

I require an answer, honey. JM

Yes. SH

My, my. You are quite the treasure. Unfortunately we aren't gonna meet just yet. I have some stuff to do. I'm putting up a case for you, sweetheart, and I guarantee, you'll like it. JM

I can't wait. Would you care to give me a hint about it? SH

This one's completely new. JM

Sherlock sighed, this time pleased. A case was always good news, even if it meant that Moriarty was doing something evil or nasty to some innocent person. Sherlock had never been the mourning type.

How exciting. SH

I hope you can manage the expectation. But don't worry, I'll swing by before you get too bored. JM

Oh, really? What makes you think that it will in any ways prevent me from getting bored? SH

Well, he knew that it was utterly stupid to even ask something like that, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted to know how Moriarty would reply, he wanted to see how the criminal would react if he played around a bit. Because after all, Sherlock wasn't the only one who loved their games.

I think we both know the answer to that one, Sherlock. JM

Sherlock hummed and stood from his chair. He cracked open the curtains in front of the window and gazed to the street. He was sure he wouldn't see Jim Moriarty himself, but one of his men, hiding somewhere.

Curious, much? JM

Sherlock frowned and ignored the message for a while longer as he tried to locate the person watching him. And as Moriarty knew what he was doing all the time, he was sure they had a camera of some kind with them to photograph him constantly, take a video and stream it to Moriarty.

Why are you so sure I'm watching you from outside? JM

The sentence made Sherlock freeze. He knew that even though Moriarty loved to trail him to the wrong direction, this question wasn't a diversion.

So there's a camera inside? How original. I thought more of you. SH

Sometimes it pays a fine price to act ordinary. JM

This is how you spend time? Watching me? SH

How could I not? It's wonderful to see you squirm. You're waiting for me, I can tell. JM

Sherlock turned his gaze away from the phone and started to scan the apartment. What would be a good place to hide a camera so that it wouldn't be noticed?

You won't find it. Want to know why? JM

Humour me. SH

Because you always want things to be clever. JM

So the camera would be somewhere in plain sight. But how could mrs. Hudson or John, or especially Sherlock himself, not notice it? Sherlock knew that the best way to hide something was not to, but he was also pretty sure he would notice if somebody planted a camera into his own flat.

Have fun looking for it, darling. I'll be watching. JM

Sherlock held the phone in his hand even if he knew their little text message -session was over. He wasn't sure if he should look for the camera now as Moriarty wanted him to, or leave it and try to ignore the thought that somebody was constantly watching his every movement.

He pondered the thought for a while, just standing there and thinking, staring around the apartment before he snorted and walked into the kitchen, deciding to start there.

Of course he would look for it.

Good boy. JM


	3. Delightful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Pure smut in this chapter, so shy readers, you might want to reconsider reading this. :P

It had been two days since Sherlock had last heard of Moriarty. No text messages, not a word from Lestrade about the case, nothing. Sherlock remembered Moriarty's words about him visiting Sherlock before he'd get too bored and wondered if it was true or just Moriarty teasing Sherlock with a way he knew it would be the most successful. But because of those words, the speech about 'the fall' and the anticipation, Sherlock found that he wasn't that bored at all, even if there was no case to work on.

John had been surprised to see Sherlock so calm when nothing was happening. He was observing his roommate with slight suspicion. He knew that something was going on, he wasn't stupid.

Sherlock knew that, too.

"I'm going out tonight", John informed after they'd sat in total silence for twenty minutes. Sherlock turned his gaze to the doctor, sitting in his own armchair.

"With who this time?" he asked, maybe a bit too bluntly. John glared at him for a while, already used to the detective's rude attitude about his girlfriends. Both of them were clearly aware of how fast John's dates changed, because none of them were patient enough to put up with how much time he was spending with Sherlock, solving cases.

"Beth. Yeah, she seems nice. Met her at work", John answered and nodded.

"Well, have fun", Sherlock stated and turned his gaze away again.

"Don't you..." John started and cleared his throat. "I mean, you should do something. You've just sat there for days. It can't be that healthy, especially not for you."

"I'm fine, John, you shouldn't worry so much", he muttered and closed his eyes. 

John was silent for a moment before sighing and nodding. "Okay", he said. "Well, I'll be off. Don't wait up."

Sherlock didn't answer. He listened to John's footsteps, leading him to the door at first, followed by the slight susurrus of his coat being lifted from the rack, then more footsteps down the stairs, door banging shut.

Alone again. Peace. Quiet. Boring.

Sherlock had considered texting Moriarty himself, but that would've been too desperate. Even if he was that desperate, he didn't want to show it so obviously to his nemesis who already had the upper hand.

Minutes went by in total silence, disturbed only by the sounds of a few cars driving by. Sherlock stared at the ceiling, thinking about 'the fall'. He still had no idea what Moriarty meant with it, and he suspected that he wasn't going to find out until 'the fall' would start.

Sherlock frowned as he heard the front door open and close. Had John forgotten something? No, the footsteps coming up the stairs weren't John's. They weren't mrs. Hudson's petite and quiet steps, they weren't Lestrade's hasty leaps, they weren't Mycroft's soft and slow paces.

The detective turned his gaze to the door, waiting for it to open. Was it a client that had broken into -

No. Sherlock's breath hitched as he realized who it was. The only person who was willing to break into 221B Baker Street in broad daylight with no problems and the cockiness to walk up the stairs so nonchalantly.

Jim Moriarty opened the door and stepped into the living room. This time he was wearing a black suit and a white shirt underneath it. He had a slight stubble, like always, and his onyx eyes were fixated on Sherlock.

Their eye contact lasted for minutes before Moriarty finally chuckled and closed the door behind him, walking further.

"No violin this time? What a shame", he commented. He gazed around the apartment like the last time before turning back to Sherlock. "So, either you haven't found the camera yet or you decided to let me have my fun. I'm quite disappointed, darling - and flattered."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, not commenting. "Sit down if you wish", he said instead and tried to rip his eyes away from the criminal's lean form. Of course, unsuccessfully.

Moriarty chuckled again and smirked to Sherlock. "So glad that the doctor finally agreed to leave", he spoke, ignoring Sherlock's words. His eyes darkened a bit as he mentioned John. "Aren't you too?"

"Not particularly glad nor sad", Sherlock muttered.

Moriarty hummed and walked to the window. Sherlock could smell the man's all too expensive cologne and his eyelids fluttered slightly at the stunning, gorgeous scent. "Isn't it delightful, though?" the criminal asked. Sherlock turned to look at him interrogatively. Moriarty turned away from the window and eyed at Sherlock with hunger in his eyes. "That I have you all to myself. The whole evening."

Sherlock didn't even have time to react to the sentence before Moriarty had calmly sat down astride to his lap. The man's other hand was tightly gripping Sherlock's hair, making him tilt his head backwards, and the other caressed his neck and jawline like an expensive treasure.

"I don't like how much you spend time with the doctor, Sherlock. But, surely you knew that already." Moriarty was speaking with a husky voice, his lips lingering over Sherlock's and making the detective's mouth dry. He needed this, had needed it for far too long.

Sherlock's hands carefully set on Moriarty's thighs. "What can you do about it?" he muttered.

Moriarty chuckled and moved so that his lips traced Sherlock's cheek gently, all the way to his ear. "I could kill him", he almost whispered, "but then I wouldn't want to upset my little pet, would I?"

Sherlock shivered as the voice was so close to him, so deep and smooth, like it always was. He exhaled deeply and closed his eyes, trying to gather himself. Moriarty chuckled again.

The man in Sherlock's lap brought his mouth to Sherlock's own again, this time pressing their lips together. Sherlock's breath hitched and he answered to the kiss far too eagerly. Moriarty's lips were soft and they were moving against Sherlock's lips firmly, confidently, hungrily. When the detective felt the man's tongue tracing his lower lip, he gladly granted the permission to enter his mouth, to start dancing with his own tongue.

Sherlock's hands grasped the fabric under his fingertips and he let a moan escape his lips, sink into the kiss they were sharing. It was intimate, passionate, and it made Sherlock forget about everything else.

It ended far too soon as Moriarty pulled away and looked into Sherlock's eyes with the look, the one that said he owned the detective and that he was about to do something filthy with him. It made shivers run through Sherlock's spine and anticipation grow inside him.

"I'll show the world that you're mine", Moriarty stated. His voice was slightly rough, making it even better for Sherlock's ears.

Then Moriarty's lips were working miracles on Sherlock's neck and the detective was very aware at that moment that Jim Moriarty's skills weren't limited on criminal actions. He also knew that the man was sucking a very visible bruise to his skin, but then again, that was his purpose. Marking him. Claiming him.

Moriarty pulled away and his hands travelled to Sherlock's shirt buttons. He began to undo them, not too fast but not that slow either. He didn't remove his dark gaze from Sherlock's eyes as one by one the buttons were open and the shirt was showing more and more of Sherlock's bare chest and stomach. When the shirt was completely open, Moriarty pulled at it, making Sherlock shift so that the cloth could be tossed aside.

"My, my", Moriarty muttered as he was eyeing at Sherlock's shirtless form, "aren't you a pretty one?" His hands moved to wander about Sherlock's sides, stomach, ribs and chest while his mouth pressed onto Sherlock's again for another kiss.

Sherlock needed more, his breath was getting uneven and he pressed himself against Moriarty, not caring about how pathetic it might've been.

Moriarty brushed his hand against the bulge on Sherlock's front, just like an accident, and the detective jumped at this. Moriarty chuckled against his lips.

Sherlock traced his hands warily to grab Moriarty's suit jacket, experimenting if the criminal would let him take it away. Just like he'd expected, Moriarty grabbed his wrists and pinned them against the chair's back rest, clicking his tongue. They stared into each others' eyes for a moment before Moriarty, surprisingly enough, let go and brought his own hands to slide the jacket off. He then moved onto his tie, taking it away calmly as always and dropping it to the floor next to the chair. Next was the buttons on his shirt, which he handled slowly, teasingly, looking into Sherlock's eyes the whole time.

Sherlock's hands stayed where Moriarty had left them and his eyes followed the other man's actions hungrily. The criminal didn't take his shirt off, however, just left it hanging on him opened.

Their lips collided again, this time with more force and haste. Sherlock almost thought for a moment that Moriarty's patience was wearing thin, but he knew better. Even at a situation like this, Moriarty had such a restraint that he could go on and on for hours before getting too impatient.

It was all Sherlock, the impatient one. He had been thinking about the exact moment for such a long time, he couldn't wait any longer, he needed it, and fast.

"Getting anxious, are we, my dear?" Moriarty muttered against Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock didn't have time to answer as Moriarty easily flipped them - well, as easily as possible in an armchair - so that he was sitting and Sherlock was on his lap. His eyes devoured Sherlock's skin and hands traced down to grasp Sherlock's erection through the fabric. Sherlock groaned and closed his eyes, not sure if he could handle the touch and Moriarty's eyes at the same time.

"Seems like it to me", the criminal commented, tracing the outlines of his nemesis' dick through his pants. "Marvellous", he said to himself and brought his other hand to open the button on Sherlock's trousers.

At that point, Sherlock would've probably been prepared to do anything in the world as long as he'd be sure that Moriarty wouldn't stop going onwards. He didn't care if everybody would find out later on, he probably wouldn't have cared if John himself would've walked in through the door right then and there.

Moriarty worked Sherlock's trousers off and the detective felt himself uncomfortably exposed. It was mostlikely visible on his face as Moriarty chuckled and grabbed Sherlock's now bare erection roughly. Sherlock groaned at the touch and let his head hang low against Moriarty's shoulder.

"Now don't get too comfortable, honey", the criminal purred and squeezed Sherlock tighter against his palm. "I'm not gonna let you get away this easy."

Internally Sherlock was highly grateful for that little fact and he didn't protest as Moriarty brought his other hand to Sherlock's arse. The criminal didn't give any warning before pushing one finger inside the other man, making him whimper at the sudden feeling.

The finger moved inside Sherlock only for a while before another one joined, working the detective ready for something much bigger and much better. He moaned and unwillingly pushed himself closer to Moriarty, trying to get more sooner.

"Patience, sexy", Moriarty chuckled next to Sherlock's ear and shoved a third finger in.

It seemed as Moriarty didn't really want to waste any time with preparing Sherlock too much - the detective guessed that it was because he was really supposed to feel this even several days later. Which he surely would.

Moriarty's other hand travelled across Sherlock's chest to the back of his head, grabbing his hair into a fist and tugging his head backwards so that their eyes could meet. Moriarty looked almost scary as his eyes had darkened so much from lust and need, and his gaze was drilling right through Sherlock's. Just then Moriarty removed all of his fingers and made Sherlock already desperate to get them back.

Sherlock didn't dare to remove his gaze from Moriarty's eyes even if he was itching to follow the criminal's fingers to see as he opened his own trousers. The situation was even better in his opinion as Moriarty hadn't actually removed any other clothing of his than the jacket and tie, leaving his trousers and shirt somewhat still on him. Though that was, again, about Moriarty showing his lead on the situation; Sherlock had to be completely exposed and Moriarty wouldn't be at all.

Moriarty's hand pulled Sherlock closer so that their lips pressed together for a heated, deep kiss at the same time as he positioned himself correctly against the detective. And then he was inside him.

Sherlock wasn't even aware about how loud he had moaned into the kiss as Moriarty's hands pressed his hips lower, making him take the criminal deeper and deeper inside him. His eyelids pressed shut and his grip on Moriarty's shoulders tightened to the point where his fingernails dug into the skin, drawing blood.

It was pure pain and pure pleasure, mixed in together, creating a strongly confusing and disturbing combination that cleared Sherlock's mind totally, leaving no rational thoughts or even traces of such. The only thing he knew was the sudden feeling of being full, full of Moriarty, needing more and being right on the edge of coming undone far too soon.

Moriarty hissed silently with pleasure as he was completely inside the man in his lap. His fingers pressed bruises to Sherlock's hips as he lifted the man a bit, then pressing him back down, hard.

Sherlock had lost all control and he moaned, moaned and moaned a little more as Moriarty started thrusting, moving inside him almost brutally hard. Sherlock felt every single movement the criminal made, their bodies pressing against each other, sweat arising to their skins.

It wasn't going to last long, Sherlock could tell. But that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

The detective wasn't fully aware of what kinds of noises escaped his lips, but he was sure he wouldn't even want to know. It would be too embarrassing, and not many things really embarrassed him. Moriarty however seemed to like it and he constantly tested him, tried to see how the other man would moan if he readjusted the angle a bit or ran his fingers against the other man's erection as he thrust in him.

"You can come, sweetheart, I can tell you want to", Moriarty said with a breathy, husky voice that made Sherlock tremble. And oh God, did he really want to.

It didn't take more than three times that Moriarty slammed inside him that he cried out and was coming, the sensation filling him completely, his mind going totally blank and eyes seeing white. Moriarty groaned at this and grabbed Sherlock's hips tighter, thrusting inside him a few times before coming himself.

They sat like that for a few moments, easing their breaths and recovering from the waves still shaking their bodies. Sherlock gulped and slowly moved from Moriarty's lap. The criminal adjusted his clothes so that he was fully dressed again, excluding the coat and tie on the floor, and chuckled as he started to watch Sherlock dressing up. It made the detective slightly uncomfortable, but surely that was the point.

"I'm really glad we got that on tape", Moriarty purred and observed Sherlock. "Aren't you too, honey?"

Sherlock didn't answer and only glared at the man. He hadn't realized that the cameras in the apartment would of course record everything.

"Maybe I should send the video to Johnny-boy", the criminal started to consider out loud, making Sherlock freeze in his movements of buttoning his shirt back up. His heart skipped a few beats as he thought about it. Would Moriarty really be that sneaky? "I'm sure he'd find it interesting enough, don't you think?" Sherlock gazed at Moriarty with a frown.

"The results of that wouldn't be so desirable, though, I'm sure", he answered with a mutter and finished buttoning his shirt. Moriarty chuckled and stood up.

"Oh, well. Maybe I'll consider keeping it to my personal purposes", he said and shrugged, slipping his hands to his trouser pockets. He walked to Sherlock and smirked at him, staring at him with his dark eyes. "If you'll be a good boy."

Sherlock only stared back, not sure what he should say. Moriarty's smirk widened a bit before disappearing and he nodded. "Until next time, Sherlock", he said calmly, like after a business meeting. With that, he walked out of the room, leaving Sherlock baffled and slightly afraid.

He would really have to find this camera.


	4. Public Relations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for it being so short, but the next chapter'll be better, I promise :)

"Seriously, Sherlock, what has gotten into you?"

It was the third time John asked that particular question that same day. Sherlock only glanced at his flatmate and shook his head. He admit it, he had been acting quite strangely after Moriarty's last visit. And he couldn't remove the scarf from his neck even when they were sitting in the living room alone.

"I've had a lot to think about, John", Sherlock answered, just like the times before.

"Yes, but why? Is it Moriarty?" the doctor asked and frowned, trying to reach eye contact. Sherlock sighed and turned to look at the man sitting besides him. They were in a cab, on their way to a crime scene after Lestrade had called them about nine and a half minutes ago about a body found in an empty apartment.

"In a way, yes", Sherlock said, nodding. "I can't say anymore before I've looked into the situation more carefully. Wouldn't want to alarm anybody without a proper reason to do so", he lied smoothly.

Lying had never been a problem for Sherlock. He didn't really care about what people thought about him or about what he said to them, didn't care if he was rude or tactless - except when it came to John. That was why he tried to make sure his lies were good enough for the man to buy them, because when telling the truth wasn't an option, he wanted John to lay in a soft, calm gaff as long as possible.

"Has he contacted you? Is he about to strike again? Because, Sherlock, you know you have to -"

"Yes, John, I know that. And no, he hasn't contacted, and because of that I have no idea if he's about to strike again. I'll tell you as soon as I'll know more, and to know more, I have to think. That's the reason why I've been doing so for the past days", Sherlock said with a certain tone that screamed 'end of conversation'.

The cab soon stopped in front of a house, surrounded by police cars and a crime scene -tape. John paid the cabby and Sherlock exited the car, walking to Lestrade who was already waiting for them.

"Great that you were able to come", the DI greeted and started walking with Sherlock right behind him. "So the victim's a thirty-seven year old woman, no cause of death to be seen, no clues to lead us anywhere, nothing. If you could work -"

"Yes, of course", Sherlock interrupted and walked past Lestrade to a room where he saw the victim.

It was like the woman was sleeping. She seemed so peaceful and calm, and it was obvious that her death had happened very unexpectedly as she hadn't even had the time to be startled.

John walked into the room just to see Sherlock frowning and inspecting the body. He nodded as a greeting to Lestrade before rushing to check the body for a cause of death. As he was about to open his mouth and tell everybody that this woman had probably died of some kind of poisoning, he noticed Sherlock snatching a note out of the woman's coat pocket. The detective didn't say anything and nobody else seemed to have noticed as it quickly disappeared to Sherlock's own pocket.

 

*

 

Only after leaving the crime scene, still quite clueless, Sherlock brought his mind back to the note he'd found. He knew it was a message for him, and that was why he was hoping John wouldn't demand to see it.

The doctor was walking slightly behind him, and the silence around them was filled with anticipation. John knew something was going on, and soon would probably be the time Sherlock would have to come up with some kind of explanation, other than 'I need to think'.

Sherlock waved a cab to stop next to them, turned to John and sighed. "I need to think", he repeated the same words as always, "take the next cab, if it's okay."

John looked at him for a while, eyes narrowed in suspicion, before nodding. Sherlock nodded back and sat to the car's back seat, pulling the door shut behind him. As the cab left, leaving John standing and waiting for the next cab to show, Sherlock pulled the note to his hands.

Have fun with your present, honey. Hopefully the doctor hasn't gotten onto you yet. I'll see you soon. JM x

It was written with a narrow, slightly curly handwriting, and the ink had smudged a bit in some places. Sherlock hummed as he looked at it, staring at the signature and the little x in the end.

It reminded him of their last encounter, and Sherlock had to close his eyes for a moment. He could still feel Moriarty's hands on his skin, their lips moving against each other -

He needed to stop, now.

Sherlock gazed out of the window and smirked. This could be even more interesting than he thought.


	5. Washing Up

Sherlock had no idea how the situation had ended up like this. He didn't know how he hadn't noticed the flat's door opening and his arch nemesis walking inside while he was in the shower. And he definetely didn't know at what point the said nemesis had decided it would be great to join Sherlock.

But he did know he had nothing against it.

The water pouring on them was steamy, making it almost difficult for Sherlock to breathe as it was so hot. Moriarty was pressing the detective against the cool tiled wall, his own body weighing him against it. The feeling of hot and cold both making his body shiver made Sherlock so confused - or would've, if he'd had the opportunity of thinking straight.

Moriarty's hands were all over; in Sherlock's hair, tugging them harshly and giving him better access to the man's neck; on his sides, fingernails scraping against the wet skin; on his back, grasping so that his hands left little white marks behind them that soon turned red.

Sherlock ghosted his hands over Moriarty's hips, not knowing whether he should touch him or not. He whimpered slightly as Moriarty started sucking a bruise to his neck. The last time that happened Sherlock had had to walk around with his scarf around his neck constantly to hide the bruise from John.

And that was probably the exact reason why Moriarty was now making a new one.

Moriarty was a psychopath, Sherlock knew that. That was why Moriarty's insane, deranged jealousy and possessiveness didn't startle or surprise him at all. Although he was a bit concerned for John's sake.

But this wasn't the time to think about John's safety and Sherlock noticed it very soon as Moriarty's teeth sunk into his skin, deep enough to draw blood and make his hands grasp the man's sides harshly. Sherlock groaned and instinctively pulled Moriarty's body closer to him. The criminal mastermind snarled and slammed their lips together for another all too heated kiss.

Sherlock felt the warm steam spreading inside his lungs as he took a deep breath. His eyelids fluttered and he let Moriarty savage his mouth just as he pleased. The feeling of the other man's hot skin pressing against his own was overwhelming and he tried to get closer, away from the cool wall that was pressing to his back.

Moriarty's hand suddenly grabbed Sherlock's almost painful erection, making the detective's moan stifle into their kiss. His other hand then pressed against Sherlock's throat, strangling him so that he could just get enough breath to stay conscious.

This made Sherlock's arousal grow even more and Moriarty's eyes observed his face carefully. The criminal had a smug but yet lust-filled and hungry look in his eyes as he moved the hand he had on Sherlock's dick.

It was all getting too much, Sherlock needed air, he needed something, but Moriarty kept on moving his hand slowly, teasing Sherlock. The criminal smirked at Sherlock's desperate groan and tightened his grip ever so slightly, letting go of Sherlock's neck. He instantly took a deep breath, thankful for the ability to breathe again.

Moriarty's lips were on Sherlock's again, the kiss just as deep and slow as the movement of Moriarty's hand, and Sherlock had the urge to speed things up. He hated it and he hated the fact that Moriarty knew it.

The kiss broke and Moriarty grabbed Sherlock's arms, turning the man over. Sherlock felt his front press against the cool wall and Moriarty's hands travelling down to his sides, hips, lower back and arse. Moriarty pressed his lips against the back of Sherlock's neck at the same time as he pushed one finger inside the man.

Again, as last time, Sherlock was filled with confused feelings about the finger inside him. He wanted more, needed more, and at the same time his body was trying to tell him something was wrong. It didn't take long for him to relax in the hot water spray and the confusement started to fade, replacing with pleasure only.

Moriarty took his time, moving his finger in and out, making Sherlock squirm. It was as if he had decided to torment Sherlock with his best abilities all night long - frankly, Sherlock had nothing against it.

He was, however, getting impatient. Moriarty finally added a second finger, preparing Sherlock lazily. His other hand was gripping the man's hip just hard enough to make him remember this wasn't a moment of affection or anything like it. And of course Sherlock knew it. It was about insane, disturbed obsession, lust and powerplay, Moriarty keeping his enemy wrapped around his pinky finger.

Moriarty moved his fingers a couple more times before pulling them away and shoving Sherlock a little tighter against the wall. Sherlock groaned and closed his eyes in anticipation, knowing what would be next.

He felt the other man's grip tighten on his waist and tried to find something to grab himself as Moriarty pushed inside him, slowly, making Sherlock's whole body tremble and a loud moan escape his lips. When the man was fully in, he stopped, chuckling next to Sherlock's ear. The detective could feel the other man's quickened breath on his skin, heartbeat against his back and fingernails digging to his hips.

Soon enough Moriarty decided to move and pulled almost completely out before slamming back inside. Sherlock groaned and clawed at the tiles beneath his fingers.

Moriarty was moving with a steady, unrushed rhythm that was torturing Sherlock. He tried to do something to make the man go faster, not knowing what exactly, and his moans were echoing in the bathroom. It vaguely crossed Sherlock's mind that he was extra thankful for John being on a date, yet again.

Moriarty snarled again and picked up his pace slightly, sinking his teeth onto Sherlock's shoulder. The detective whimpered and his hips pushed backwards.

It was pure ecstasy, messing up Sherlock's mind and making his thoughts disappear completely. It made his body vibrate and eyelids flutter, moans constantly forming in his throat.

It was annoying how patient Moriarty was capable of being even in a situation like that. Sherlock felt his smirk against his shoulder as the criminal mastermind sped up more, his other hand wrapping around Sherlock's erection tightly. The man was insane, a psychopath, evil -

Sherlock cried out as his orgasm hit him like a heavy rock, falling onto him and knocking out every other sense he had than pleasure. He saw white, his fingernails scraped against the hard wall he was pressed against, his feet went unstable, his breath hitched and forehead hit the wall harshly. His moans were ripped out of his throat, his every muscle tensed, he was trembling and Moriarty's laughter was all he heard before the man growled and brutally thrust inside Sherlock to his own release.

It took minutes for Sherlock to regain his senses and even his breath. He felt his heart drumming inside his chest and exhaustion spreading to his body.

Moriarty pulled away from Sherlock and grinned widely as he looked at the man. "I just love to see you so unchaste. Your cheeks look so sweet when you're blushing", he said with a mockering tone. Sherlock didn't have the energy to glare at his enemy and just leaned against the wall, breathing calmly.

Sherlock's hand touched his neck where he felt stinging, constant pain. His fingertips were bloody when he pulled his hand away and he frowned. This would be much harder to hide, then.

"Worried?" Moriarty asked and chuckled. "Maybe you can get the little doctor to look at it." The criminal's eyes darkened out of jealousy again, as always when the subject reached John.

"I'd rather not", Sherlock muttered.

"What for?"

"Why? Is that what you want me to do?" he asked and looked at Moriarty with one raised eyebrow. The other man stared back for a good while, discontent showing on his face.

"I have business to tend to", the criminal then answered. Sherlock became aware of the fact that they were still standing naked in the shower. The water had already started to cool up after being sprayed for so long. Moriarty smirked slightly again, apparently forgotten about their last subject, and looked at Sherlock for a while. "I'll make sure you won't be too bored while I'm away."

Sherlock frowned and observed as Moriarty stepped out of the shower and grabbed Sherlock's towel, starting to dress up as peacefully as if he were just home and out of his morning shower. Sherlock watched as his arch nemesis put on his black suit and brushed at the shoulders a couple times before winking his eye and nodding. 

"Until next time, Sherlock."


	6. Apple Martini

Sherlock had been through the newspapers and internet, looking for something interesting to do - maybe a murder Lestrade hadn't yet gotten his hands on or a missing person yet to be found. Nothing like that was going on, though, and the last time Sherlock had solved a case was two days ago. Too long.

"I can't believe there's absolutely nothing going on", Sherlock muttered by himself as he looked out of the window. "Why doesn't somebody do something?"

"Something'll come up soon, I'm sure", John mumbled with his eyes on his book. It was his automatic answer to Sherlock's complaints about boredom, and even though Sherlock knew John didn't actually even know what they were talking about as he was so into reading at the moment, the answer made him nod.

Just as he was about to walk up to his armchair and go back to waiting, his phone buzzed in his pocket. There were three options; either it was Mycroft with God knows what, or it was Lestrade with a case, or it was Moriarty with God knows what. Either one of those options would be good enough.

Thankfully it was the most preferable option.

Meet me for drinks tonight. JM

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and glanced at John to see if the doctor's curiosity had awoken. The man still had his eyes on the book he was holding and apparently hadn't noticed anything.

Drinks? How ordinary of you. SH

Sometimes it pays a fine price to act ordinary, my dear. JM

Sherlock almost rolled his eyes at the answer he'd heard before. 

I would've thought that you'd be the kind of person to break into my flat like always if you wanted a drink. Why ask so nicely? SH

It took a while for the reply to arrive and Sherlock almost found himself becoming impatient. He glanced at the clock three times within the two minutes it took for Moriarty to reply.

It wasn't a question, love. JM

Of course. Sherlock sneered and smirked as he looked at the message.

Why am I not surprised? SH

Festivo's in an hour. I suggest you make it on time. JM

Sherlock didn't bother to write an answer. He glanced at the clock and then estimated the time he would take to get to the said bar - a popular one but not too full, far enough from the city centre for them to maybe not get recognized. Hopefully.

 

*

 

It had been awfully easy to lie to John about his whereabouts for the night. He'd only said that it would be futile to wait up and that he had a thing, and the doctor had agreed not to ask any more questions, getting back to his book as Sherlock had left the apartment.

But that was over twenty minutes ago. Sherlock was sitting at a side table in the bar, glancing at the door once in a while, being about ten minutes too early. He was holding a glass of scotch in his hand, trying not to drink it yet and wait until Moriarty would show up.

Exactly one minute before the agreed time, the door opened and the mentioned man stepped inside. He was wearing a dark Reiss suit with a black tie and a white shirt, reminding Sherlock vividly about the time they met at the pool. Except his suit had been Westwood.

Moriarty noticed Sherlock instantly and his lips curved into a slight, almost unnoticeable smirk as he walked to the table, sitting opposite of the detective.

"You ordered without me? Impatient", he chuckled and waved the waiter to come. Sherlock only observed as Moriarty ordered an Apple Martini, unable to decide if the choice came to him as a surprise or not. Once Moriarty had gotten his drink and held it elegantly in his hand, he turned to Sherlock again.

"So, why did you bring me here?" Sherlock asked.

Moriarty chuckled. "Must you really grasp the unimportant details, love?" he asked and shook his head. "I'm not sure if I like how well you've managed to hide that bruise of yours." Sherlock knew Moriarty meant the one on his neck. He would never admit to anybody that he'd used some makeup on it - plus his scarf, of course. Only Moriarty and himself could now tell that there was something.

"Why? Because you're jealous and now John won't see it and find out?" Sherlock answered with a sting in his words. Moriarty raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his drink.

"Believe me, Sherlock, if I wanted your little Johnny-boy to know, he already would", he then said. "I'll save that for something special. I'll put up a whole scene for him. Wouldn't that be nice?" The criminal smirked as Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed.

"What kind of a scene would that be?"

"Ah, patience, my dear", Moriarty purred. "You'll find out, eventually. I've thought it all through. It'll be delightful to watch." He chuckled again and swirled the Martini around in the glass. Sherlock took a deep breath and swallowed a nice amount of his own drink to suffocate the slight panic spreading inside him. "Oh don't worry, I won't be insensitive", Moriarty assured and grinned widely.

"What a relief it is", Sherlock muttered and took another swig so that the glass emptied.

"Slow down, honey, I wouldn't want to drag you up the stairs tonight", Moriarty noted. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Honestly, what do you want?" he blurted. "I highly doubt that you came here just to chat with me."

"Why not?" Moriarty smirked. "I absolutely adore the way you squirm. I have to start keeping you in suspense more often", he thought out loud and took another sip of his Martini, looking way too sophisticated for a man who could kill anybody by merely snapping his fingers.

Sherlock met the criminal's gaze, feeling it burn through him in a familiar way. It promised every dirty thing Sherlock could set his mind on, eating the detective's clothes and drilling holes into the man as it moved around his face, chest, neck and arms. Sherlock answered to it with a similar gaze, feeling his breath become slightly uneven as anticipation filled him up.

Moriarty chuckled as he read the signs in Sherlock's eyes, then turning away and waving a waiter to the table. He ordered another Martini for himself and a scotch for Sherlock.

"I take it you don't drink that often?" Moriarty asked.

Sherlock shrugged. "Occasionally."

Moriarty handed him the scotch he'd just received and observed as the detective took a small sip of it. Sherlock didn't see the satisfied grin Moriarty hid behind his glass.

"So", the criminal said, "you've had plenty of time to think. Have you figured it out yet?"

Sherlock froze for a moment and looked at the man sitting opposite of him. The fall. Of course. It had to come up again, sooner or later.

It was almost an embarrassing subject for Sherlock - Moriarty was right, he had had plenty of time to figure it out, yet he hadn't. It was a complete mystery to him, the fall. He had no idea what it was supposed to mean, except that it would definetely not be a good thing for him.

"No, I haven't", Sherlock answered after a moment of silence and glaring. Moriarty shook his head.

"I would've expected more of you, Sherlock", he said and raised an eyebrow. 

"Like I've already told you, I never liked riddles", Sherlock spoke and took a sip out of his drink. Moriarty did the same and a smirk spread to his lips yet again.

"And like I've already told you", he started and stared into the detective's eyes, "you should learn to."

Sherlock glared, glared and glared more, spinning the word 'fall' inside his head, not reaching an end nor a beginning. Moriarty observed the brainwork and chuckled by himself, drinking his Martini satisfied.

"What would the little doctor say if I were to bring you home tonight?" he asked after a while. Sherlock frowned. "Well, not exactly bring you home. I would, of course, join you. I'd love to make you scream, honey. Would you like that?"

Sherlock wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. Of course he would like it, no question, but he would most definetely not like it that John would be home and would find out everything. It was Sherlock's dirty secret. Moriarty was his weakness - as he liked, his only weakness. And it wouldn't do for John to find out about it, even if he did know about their obsession towards each other. Or something like that.

Moriarty chuckled again at Sherlock's silence and smirked, drinking the rest of his Martini. "Well, as much as I would like to do so, I'm afraid I'm running on a schedule", he said, standing up. Sherlock followed suit and looked into Moriarty's dark eyes.

The criminal stepped closer so that their chests were touching and Sherlock felt the other man's breathing on his lips. He still refused to turn his gaze and swallowed harshly as the other one was so close.

"You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock", Moriarty said with a husky voice, making Sherlock shiver. With that, the criminal mastermind turned around and walked away, leaving Sherlock slightly baffled and itching to go after him.


	7. Ride

Come and play. Black car waiting. Get in. JM

That was all the message said. Sherlock stared at it for a while before standing up from his chair and walking to the window. He cracked open the curtain and glanced down the street, seeing said black car parked right outside their door, still running as if ready to leave the second Sherlock would be in.

He knew the message hadn't been a suggestion or an invitation, it had been more of an order, and he knew better than to try and oppose in any ways. He sighed and turned to walk to the door, grabbing his coat.

Luckily John had once again gone for a date with another woman - Alisha, if Sherlock recalled correctly - and mostlikely wouldn't be home asking questions for the rest of the night. Maybe not even in the morning, yet.

Sherlock paced down the stairs and slammed the door open, walking outside. He glanced around on the street before shutting the door behind him and going to the car as casually as possible, opening the door and slipping to the back seat. The car started moving right away.

He turned to look at Moriarty, sitting right next to him and smoking a cigarette by the open window. An unknown driver was on the front seat, wearing sunglasses so that Sherlock wouldn't see his face. Which was more than fine by him, as he didn't have the slightest interest in Moriarty's workers.

"Sherlock", Moriarty said and blew smoke out of his lungs, "how nice of you to join us on this fine evening."

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked, sounding quite bored. That, however, was in no way the case. He was waiting for Moriarty's next move with enthusiasm and anticipation, his eyes were following the movement of the cigarette that pressed between the criminal's lips and the man sucked slightly.

Moriarty smirked and shed ash out of the window. "I wanted to play a bit", he answered. Sherlock almost shivered because of the husky voice, crawling right across his spine. The criminal dropped his cigarette out of the window and snapped his fingers so that the driver would bring the darkened glass back up.

Sherlock was about to open his mouth, say something about being busy and needing to know the reason for his presence on this little ride, when Moriarty calmly and simply moved to sit astride on his lap. Sherlock's mouth opened ajar and his eyebrows raised, surprise spreading through him.

He would've wanted to ask about them being in a car and one of Moriarty's men seeing them all the time, but no words came out of his mouth.

Moriarty put his other hand to slightly caress Sherlock's jawline and the other one to press against his collar bone. Sherlock was startled, feeling the criminal's thighs press tightly against his, seeing the man's face merely centimetres from his own and feeling his warm breath on his lips.

Sherlock's gaze slid to Moriarty's lips and an itch to lean forward filled him. He then remembered the driver and his eyes flickered to glance at him.

"Oh, don't worry", Moriarty purred, his fingers sinking into Sherlock's soft curls, "he won't mind." He pulled Sherlock's hair gently, making the detective tilt his head backwards. "I have such big plans for you tonight, honey. I'm sure you'll enjoy them as much as I will", Moriarty spoke and smirked slightly as his lips traced the other man's jawline, just barely touching. "I'll pound into your arse harder than you could ever imagine, Sherlock. And you'll beg for my mercy. And we're gonna do it right here, because I say so. Isn't that right?" he muttered next to Sherlock's ear with a dark voice that had the detective almost shivering.

Sherlock gulped and closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. Moriarty's chuckle muffled against his neck and the criminal ground softly down against Sherlock's growing erection.

Moriarty's pale, slender fingers took off Sherlock's scarf, placing it down on the seat next to them. His eyes slid on the exposed skin, looking at the slightly faded bruises he'd made before. Unlike Sherlock had expected, Moriarty didn't comment them and continued to push off the detective's coat.

Sherlock didn't move a muscle as the fingers moved down to his shirt and started to unbutton it. As the man's cool fingertips grazed his bare stomach, a shiver went through him and he had to focus on breathing. Moriarty was like a drug to him - a highly addictive, dangerous drug that he couldn't say no to. There was no way he would've let anybody else undress him and do whatever they wanted to do to him in front of another person, in a car in the middle of London.

And there was no way he would've liked it with anybody else than Moriarty.

"You're such a beauty", Moriarty muttered as the shirt fell off of Sherlock's shoulders. The detective looked into the man's eyes, two lust-darkened gazes meeting, before Moriarty leaned forward and pressed their lips together.

Sherlock's hands automatically landed on Moriarty's thighs, grasping the smooth fabric beneath his fingers. His breath hitched and a wave of something indescribable moved through him. Moriarty's lips were as soft as always, tasting like the cigarette he'd just smoked and tangy lemon. The criminal's tongue rolled around Sherlock's with smoothness that made Sherlock's body tremble with anticipation.

Sherlock experimentally pushed his hands against the expensive suit jacket Moriarty was wearing, to see if he would be allowed to take it off. Moriarty pulled away from the kiss, placing his hands on top of Sherlock's and pushed the garment off. He then brought his own fingers to remove his tie and open his shirt slowly, teasing. 

Moriarty moved to savage Sherlock's mouth again, his hands sliding against Sherlock's chest, stomach and sides, hips grinding against the detective's almost unnoticeably yet enough to make Sherlock groan silently.

"Let's try this", Moriarty mumbled, just barely pulling away from the kiss. "I'm now gonna fuck you. And I'll do it hard. I'll do it so hard you're not going to be able to walk properly and little Johnny-boy's going to know every little detail about what happened." Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the husky voice drilling into his body. "Say, dear", Moriarty chuckled, "do you like to be my property?"

Sherlock glared for a moment, trying to keep his dignity just a while longer. Moriarty's eyes however made him nod quite quickly. The criminal smirked at him with a satisfied look in his eyes and moved to open his belt, sliding his hand inside Sherlock's trousers and grabbed his erection.

Sherlock groaned and his head fell back as he felt fingers wrapping around him. Moriarty however didn't move his hand at all, making Sherlock pant and look at him with an almost desperate look in his eyes. Moriarty chuckled and squeezed a bit, teasing the man beneath him to the limits.

All too soon the hand disappeared and Sherlock's trousers were being pulled off. He complied, lifting his hips and allowing Moriarty to rip the garment off and turn him around to all fours. The position was nearly humiliating, and remembering the driver didn't help Sherlock's situation at all. 

"Oh my, look at you", Moriarty growled, his voice overflowing with lust. "So pretty."

A gasp escaped Sherlock's lips as without any warning whatsoever a finger was pushed inside him. He automatically pushed slightly against it, trying to get it deeper, and the realization of it made his cheeks flush more than anything at the moment. Moriarty chuckled with a pleased grin and started moving the finger deep inside the other man.

Moriarty's patience seemed to be wearing thin, and he didn't take long before adding another finger, stretching Sherlock for him, making the detective squirm under his touch. Sherlock bit his lip to stifle his moans and felt the biggest shame inside him for being like this. Because normally he was nothing like this.

"Okay then, I'm sure you know what I want to hear, darling", Moriarty said, stuffing a third finger deep in with maybe a little too much force.

Oh, and Sherlock did know. He knew that Moriarty wanted him to beg, especially now that there was one of the criminal's men present - he had to show his dominance more than ever now.

A hand gripped Sherlock's erection almost too hard and moved his fingers agonizingly slowly. Sherlock whimpered and closed his eyes, not wanting to throw his whole pride in the trash just yet.

"Come on, now", Moriarty purred and leaned down to trace his tongue against Sherlock's spine. "Let me hear it."

A few firm strokes on Sherlock's dick was enough and he gasped out a silent 'please'.

"I didn't quite hear you, lovely", the criminal mastermind cooed and his smirk disappeared from Sherlock's skin. "Say it again. Louder, so that our company can hear your sweet voice, too."

Sherlock felt his cheeks flush again at the reminder of the driver and he closed his eyes, swallowing harshly and trying to control his panting. "Please", he moaned.

"'Please' what, honey?" Moriarty asked and withdrew his fingers, however not moving the hand on Sherlock's erection.

"Please, fuck me."

It was absolutely unbelievable how fast Moriarty could undo Sherlock, change the arrogant, proud and confident nature of his into a begging, pleading, pathetic mess. Moriarty's cool and authoritative presence just made something click inside Sherlock, telling his body that it was time to submit, and once the control of his own body was gone, it was only clever to give in. And he did enjoy it.

"That's it, that's a good boy", Moriarty groaned. It didn't take more than a few seconds until Sherlock felt Moriarty pushing inside him.

The sensation was overwhelming, making his head spin and a loud moan drag against his throat. Moriarty's hands gripped his hips bruisingly hard as he pushed all the way inside, so deep that his thighs pressed against Sherlock.

Sherlock forgot about everything else, his lungs didn't work properly anymore, his fingers tried to grasp the seat beneath him just to grasp something. Moriarty pulled slightly away and then slammed back in with force, making an embarrassing cry escape Sherlock's lips.

The criminal started thrusting in and out hard, violating Sherlock's body and making the man moan and whimper every time he moved. His fingernails dug into the skin on the detective's hipbones so hard the skin broke under the touch, leaving bright red, bleeding scratches behind.

It was all coming to an end far too quickly as Sherlock felt he was already reaching his own peak, going absolutely insane in the criminal's hands. Just as he was about to come, Moriarty slowed down to an agonizing, teasing pace, enjoying the little whimpers and squirms he could pull out of the detective. He let out a breathy laugh and leaned in to grab Sherlock's hands and pull them behind the man's back, making his cheek press against the seat.

Moriarty was a lunatic, completely and utterly insane. Sherlock groaned and tried to get the criminal to quicken up the pace again, frustrated and desperate, and as it became obvious, Moriarty was clearly enjoying it.

Sherlock groaned as Moriarty roughly grabbed his hair, pulling him completely to his knees. Moriarty's chest pressed against his back for a moment as the criminal sucked a bruise just beneath Sherlock's ear.

Suddenly Sherlock was laying on his back and Moriarty was above him, pushing inside him and groaning at the sight of the messy, naked and panting detective underneath him.

"Good, very good", he breathed and was still able to flash a smug smirk, "now I can see your pretty face when you come." Sherlock moaned and brought his hands to grab the back of Moriarty's shirt, pulling him closer.

The criminal started fast, rough and powerful thrusts, pulling every little sound he could out of Sherlock. The detective curved his spine to expose his neck better to the man who bowed down, sucking a very visible bruise onto the sensitive skin - a signature.

"Come on then, honey", Moriarty panted and looked at Sherlock's darkened eyes. "I wanna see you lose it."

Sherlock was already so close, and when Moriarty's husky voice flowed to his ears, almost purring the order to him, that was it. He cried out, his spine arching as he was seeing white, feeling everything more clearly than ever. He heard his blood rushing inside his veins and breath hitching in his throat as Moriarty slammed inside him one, two, three more times before shooting inside him with a loud groan.

They didn't really move or do much anything but rest on top of each other, panting harshly - although Moriarty much less than Sherlock. After a minute or so Moriarty pulled away and calmly closed his trousers, starting to button his shirt back up.

Sherlock eyed at his enemy at the same time as he sat up and started to dress up with slow movements, feeling pain on his muscles all the time. Moriarty chuckled smugly as he finished dressing and started to observe Sherlock closely.

"Delightful, wasn't it?" the criminal asked. Sherlock only glanced at him with still flushed cheeks.

About a minute after Sherlock had pulled his coat on the car stopped in front of a large building - a hotel, one of the older and fancier ones in the centre of London.

Moriarty opened the car door and stepped outside, waiting for Sherlock to follow him. The detective did so, trying not to look at the driver who had just witnessed the whole thing, and stood in front of Moriarty with a raised eyebrow, waiting.

"I couldn't let you wander back to Baker Street at this hour, now could I?" the criminal said and smirked, bringing his hand to caress Sherlock's cheek gently. The detective sensed a slight tone of mocker in the gesture but didn't say anything. "Come on, then", Moriarty stated and led Sherlock into the hotel's lobby.

Sherlock was rather confused as he followed his arch nemesis in the hotel's hallways, to the third floor, stopping in front of one of the rooms. Moriarty took his key card out of his fortuneteller and opened the door, waiting for Sherlock to go in before him.

"You must be exhausted", Moriarty said with a soft voice as he closed the door behind them. Sherlock glanced at the enemy and shrugged. The man was right, in a way - Sherlock could go on for days without sleep, but right at the moment he was sure he could use some sleep.

"Not too much, I can manage", he muttered. 

Moriarty chuckled. "You should sleep", he answered, ignoring Sherlock's words. "One of my drivers will take you back to Baker Street first thing in the morning."

"Why would I trust you enough to sleep in your hotel room?" Sherlock asked and frowned. Moriarty rolled his eyes and looked at the detective for a moment. He didn't answer the question, only grabbed his sleeve and started to pull him into a different room.

"I'll sleep with you", Moriarty said calmly and pushed Sherlock's coat off, nodding towards the large bed.

Sherlock wasn't sure if he was supposed to obey or if Moriarty was planning something evil, but as he couldn't think of a way Moriarty could destroy him that the man couldn't do while he was awake, he decided to go along with it.

As he lay on the bed with his arch nemesis right beside him, his mind was filled with questions and thoughts that he wasn't able to answer at the moment. In spite of everything, it didn't take him many minutes to fall into a lethargy and finally sleep, feeling tired and very satisfied.

What he had no idea about was that at the exact same moment Moriarty grinned and tapped his mobile phone to send a message to one of his men - the driver of their car.

"Now", the message said.

What it meant was that John Watson's phone would soon beep due to an unread message with several photos attached to it - photos of their little trip around London.


	8. Conversations

John Watson was utterly pissed off. He was holding his mobile phone in his hands, staring at the message he'd received the night before. It had eight photos attached to it, every one of them presenting Sherlock in various positions, naked and writhing underneath Jim Moriarty.

"Plot twist! The little detective's mine", the message said.

When John had gotten the message, first he'd thought it was some kind of a joke or that Sherlock was somewhere in danger. Then the photos had uploaded and it had become very clear that Sherlock was in no way forced to the situations John saw him in. The man's face was filled with passion, hunger and pleasure and he in no way was trying to push his nemesis away from him - rather pulling him closer.

Sherlock hadn't yet returned home from wherever the hell he had been the whole night, and even with getting a good night's sleep, John was still enraged. Sherlock would have some serious explaining to do.

 

*

 

Sherlock stared at Moriarty with disbelief in his eyes. The criminal was laughing and grinned widely as he stared right back into Sherlock's eyes without shame.

Moriarty had just revealed that the driver from the night before had taken several pictures of them and sent them to John. Sherlock was utterly enraged and at the same time slightly frightened about John's reaction - the doctor had tried to call him four times during the night and twice in the morning, plus sent three different messages of which every one of them had the question 'where are you' in it.

Moriarty smirked and took a drag out of his cigarette, blowing the smoke at Sherlock's face. "Why the silent treatment, honey?" the criminal purred.

Sherlock opened his mouth to answer but closed it again, glaring at the man with a fiery gaze. "May I see the photos?" he decided to ask with a silent voice. Moriarty raised an eyebrow and looked at the detective for a while before taking his phone out of his pocket, giving it to Sherlock.

Sherlock on all fours, Sherlock beneath Moriarty, Sherlock on his knees and Moriarty's lips on his neck - it went on and on, every picture becoming bolder than the previous one. Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Come now, it shouldn't be that bad", Moriarty chuckled. "You had it coming."

"I had it coming?" Sherlock repeated and shook his head.

"Don't you think it's little Johnny-boy's right to know what his friend is up to?" Moriarty asked and shed ash onto the floor, taking another drag. "Isn't it just fair this way?"

The criminal was clearly amused and Sherlock sneered. "As if you did it for justice. You just wanted to show off", he muttered. Moriarty frowned and flicked the cigarette into the sink, walking to Sherlock. He grabbed the man's hair and brought their faces closer, staring into the detective's eyes with a burning gaze.

"It doesn't matter why I did it", he snarled. "You're my property. And if I choose to show you off, then I will. The doctor'll just have to deal with it, sweetheart."

Sherlock glared at him but didn't object. Moriarty chuckled slightly and pulled Sherlock even closer, pressing their lips together. 

"I'd just love to throw you onto that table and fuck you right now", he muttered into the kiss. "But it'll have to wait for a few days." Sherlock exhaled slowly and closed his eyes for a while. The criminal had too much of an effect on him, and Moriarty knew that. "There's a car waiting for you outside the door. Do you want me to walk you, honey, or will you manage by yourself?"

 

*

 

Sherlock stepped out of the car and shut the door behind him, facing 221B Baker Street. He didn't particularly care about people's emotions, usually, but John was different. He was the only friend he really had, and Moriarty had strapped a bomb onto him. So yes, he did feel a bit... guilty?

Sherlock sighed and walked in to the apartment, pacing up the stairs to their flat. As he was in, he saw John sitting on his armchair. The doctor instantly turned to look at him with an angry look on his face.

"Hello, John", Sherlock greeted and flashed a smile. "A lovely day, isn't it? Almost like -"

"Sherlock", John interrupted and stood up. He was holding his phone in his hand and looked at the screen again. "So guess who sent me a message yesterday?"

Sherlock looked at the man for a moment before nodding. "Yes, I was hoping you'd forgotten about it."

"Forgot- Sherlock, it's Jim Moriarty! What the hell are you thinking?!"

"Well, it's basically about the interraction between -"

"No, I'm serious, this time", John said and shook his head. "He tried to kill us, Sherlock, and probably is still trying to - and you go around, letting him shag you like nothing's ever happened! He's a psychopath -" The doctor took a pause and exhaled deeply, shaking his head again. "I can't believe this."

"I don't see what's so hard to believe", Sherlock answered. He decided it would be the best to act cold about the subject - that way it would probably be let go faster. "It's sexual intercourse, people do that, it doesn't really matter who you do it with."

John stared at the man in front of him with widened eyes, mouth slightly ajar. "It - he's your arch nemesis, he's obsessed to kill you!"

"We're both obsessed to kill each other, although the obsession doesn't limit itself to just killing one another", Sherlock muttered. John snorted. "John, the situation is not going to change in any ways whatever you do about it and it doesn't compromise your safety so I suggest we leave it."

John sighed. "You're probably right", he answered. "Just tell me, when did it all start?"

Sherlock saw flames in John's eyes and knew that even if the man was prepared to drop the subject he would definetely not forget about it any time soon and his anger wasn't going to languish. 

He cleared his throat and shrugged. "About the time of the trial, although I would say it has technically been going on since the first time we met." John stared for a while before nodding and turning his back, sitting to his armchair again.

Sherlock walked into the kitchen and glanced out of the window. It was easy for him to just forget about the situation and let it be, but he knew it couldn't have been that way for John. He would've done something about it, but there really was nothing he could do.

The detective's phone buzzed in his pocket and he frowned, taking it into his hand.

Having fun yet? I sure am. I'll drop by soon. Until that, try not to get too bored. JM

Sherlock sneered and shook his head. That bastard.


	9. The Game Is On

"So, a suspected murder victim in Lancaster, a missing woman in Birmingham and a suspectless rape in Southampton", John listed, sighing. Sherlock's face showed just how he felt about those cases and the level of interest he had towards them. "Listen, we have to take something. You'll just -"

"I'm fine, John, and I don't see any use in bothering myself with an unimportant case", Sherlock interrupted. He glanced at the clock and then stood up from his armchair, taking his cup of tea with him and walking to the window. He cracked the curtain open and looked at the streets - calm and quiet, as usually. He knew he could just hint about his boredom towards Moriarty and the criminal would definetely want to watch Sherlock dance around, creating a case for him.

"And you haven't heard anything from Lestrade?" John asked, raising his eyebrows. 

"Nope", Sherlock answered, "but I suspect tomorrow he'll call. It's been two days and the approximate gap between crimes -"

"Yes, Sherlock, I know, you've told me before", John sighed and stood up. "I'll make some more tea. Do you want something?" Sherlock had however sunk into his thoughts and didn't hear the question over them. John nodded. "I'll take that as a 'no'", he muttered and walked out of the room.

Sherlock was staring out of the window, trying to decide if what he saw was a great or horrible thing. A black, shiny car curved to his view and stopped in front of their door. A moment later Jim Moriarty stepped out, wearing a grey, neat suit like always and sunglasses. He dropped a half-smoked cigarette on the ground and walked to the door - 221B's door.

Sherlock turned around quickly and listened to the sound of the door opening. John returned to the living room with a frown on his face, glancing at Sherlock.

"I thought mrs. Hudson was gonna be away for the whole weekend", he commented.

"She is", Sherlock answered and nodded, keeping his gaze on the door the whole time, listening to the footsteps coming upstairs. "This isn't mrs. Hudson."

John glanced at the door and turned towards Sherlock again. "A client, then?"

"Nope", Sherlock answered. John didn't even have time to ask about it before the door opened and a calm, casual Moriarty stepped inside, gazing around the room.

It was like the time froze at the moment. Moriarty was just standing there, his expression totally blank, and both of the men were staring at him like they'd never seen him before.

"What - the hell - are you doing here?!" John hissed after staring at the criminal for a long, silent while. Sherlock couldn't bring himself to doing nor saying anything, only staring at the man. He didn't know whether he should ask Moriarty to leave or invite him in - although neither of them would be very adequate as Moriarty didn't need his requests for doing just as he pleased.

"Turn that frown upside down, Johnny-boy", Moriarty said calmly, his lips curving one-sidedly. He then turned to look at Sherlock, smirking to him and finally shut the door behind him, walking further into the flat. He stared at the detective with the familiar burning look in his eyes, and once he got to the man, his hand grabbed Sherlock's hair and pulled their lips together.

"Oh, for God's sakes", John muttered, still standing by the kitchen door. Sherlock answered to the kiss eagerly, ignoring his confusion. A sweet taste spread on his tongue as their lips danced together. Then it was all over, all too soon.

They stared at each other for a while before Sherlock cleared his throat and turned his gaze to John. "Be polite, would you, and make some tea", he suggested. John glared at him for a moment before backing up to the kitchen and continuing his task.

"I'm glad to see you're not all too bored yet", Moriarty said and walked past Sherlock to the window, gazing outside. "I was thinking about putting up a case for you."

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked and frowned at the criminal. "I know you didn't just come here for a cheerful chat."

Moriarty chuckled and turned around, raising an eyebrow at the detective. "Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't", he said. John returned to the room with the boiled kettle and set it to the table with a loud bang, sitting down to his armchair. He seemed determined not to leave the two men alone, which Sherlock couldn't decide to be either good or a pity.

"Sit down, if you will", Sherlock stated and turned his gaze away from Moriarty.

"I came here to warn you, honey", the criminal said, again completely ignoring Sherlock's words. The detective raised an eyebrow at this and walked to his own armchair, sitting down. 

"Warn about what?" John asked, his gaze jumping furiously between Sherlock and Moriarty. The latter turned back to the window and sighed, his hands in his trouser pockets. "Sherlock, care to explain?" John asked and frowned at his flatmate. It was too obvious how little he liked that their arch nemesis was present, and to be frank, there could be no blaming him for it.

Moriarty walked back to Sherlock and calmly sat down on the armrest, bringing his other hand to caress Sherlock's thigh casually. Sherlock glanced at John whose gaze had visited the hand and then shot away as if he would've wanted to erase everything he'd seen.

"The final problem", Moriarty said. "The fall."

Sherlock quickly turned his glance towards the criminal, meeting his dark gaze. Of course. The fall. Sherlock had been waiting for it to come up, but not with anticipation, because as it seemed, he still hadn't figured it out, and it was almost humiliating. He had gotten so much time with it.

"The fall?" John repeated. "Okay, Sherlock - how much have you decided not to tell me during all this?"

"You do remember the fall, don't you, my dear?" Moriarty asked, keeping his eyes on Sherlock. "It's about to start. You should know." He moved his hand to caress Sherlock's jawline, then to his hair, playing with the soft curls, clearly enjoying the situation.

"And you're still not going to give me a clue about what it is?" Sherlock asked.

Moriarty chuckled and clicked his tongue. "You don't really need one, honey", he said. "It is the clue. The fall", he continued. Sherlock only frowned, feeling John's gaze on him the whole time. "You're clever. You wouldn't be half as interesting as you are if you weren't clever. So you'll figure it out."

Sherlock sighed, turning his gaze away. It was infuriating, to know that he'd had so much time to figure one simple riddle out, and he still hadn't succeeded. Moriarty's voice still flowed around him, the deep, dark tone making him close his eyes for a while. He wouldn't want to show John just exactly how easily Moriarty controlled him.

"You still have time until tomorrow. Then it's gonna start", the criminal purred next to his ear. "It's gonna be pretty, I can tell. And it's up to you to decide how long it's going to last."

Sherlock didn't say anything, only thought, went through his mind palace, trying to find a clue. Moriarty turned to look at the doctor, eyeing him closely with slightly narrowed eyes. Sherlock noticed this and became dubious. Had John something to do with the fall?

"No, no, Sherlock", Moriarty said and smirked. "You're smarter than that." He raised an eyebrow and chuckled, tracing his thumb underneath the detective's ear. "I can practically hear you thinking, it's so cute, sweetheart", he cooed, "too bad you're not thinking about it correctly."

Their eye contact remained, their gazes burning holes through each other. Sherlock felt his breath getting slightly uneven and his mouth getting dry. Moriarty's lips curved a bit again and his eyes were filled with promises.

"This is irritating me too much for today, so I'm going to leave", John said and stood from his chair.

"No need, Johnny", Moriarty said before the doctor could take a step towards the door. "I was just about to do so myself. Leave Sherlock here thinking. Watch him dance. You still haven't removed the camera, honey", he continued and looked at Sherlock.

"Camera?" John said, anger boiling inside him so that Sherlock could see it. "There's a camera here? Brilliant. Lovely."

"Oh? You didn't tell the little doctor?" Moriarty questioned and chuckled. "My, my, darling."

"Yes, I think this is absolutely hilarious", John growled and shook his head.

"Okay, okay", Moriarty said and smirked to the doctor. "I'll leave now, my driver is waiting for me", he spoke. Sherlock stood up, standing next to Moriarty and looking at the criminal. "Tomorrow, Sherlock, it's going to begin. Don't forget", he smirked. The detective didn't answer and let Moriarty press a slightly too intense kiss to his lips before pulling away and looking at him with a deep gaze. This time it didn't promise anything good, even closely, but something that Sherlock would definetely not like. "You'll be hearing from me."

Sherlock and John both watched the criminal walk out of the door casually and shut it behind him.

Something bad was about to happen, and apparently Sherlock had less than a day to figure out what it would be, with no clues whatsoever. Perfect.

The game was on.


	10. The Fall

Sherlock knew now perfectly well what Moriarty had meant with 'the fall'.

It was too late now, far too late, as he was already falling hard, although the literal meaning of it hadn't yet come across him. He knew it was coming too, however, and he would soon fall to his death just like his reputation had, in the matter of hours.

It had started with the case Moriarty had fixed him up with. It had been far too easy and that was how Sherlock had known something was highly wrong. He'd solved it in the matter of hours, and when the kidnapped children had been found, the girl had screamed as she'd seen Sherlock.

Then it had all collapsed; Sherlock had become a fugitive, just like Moriarty had planned it, and everything had gone down quicker than Sherlock even realized.

Now they were standing on the rooftop, Sherlock was staring down at the street with Moriarty next to him. 

"Your friends will die if you don't." That was what Moriarty had said. "Not just John. Everyone." Sherlock frowned as he stared down, looking at the ordinary people walking around. He knew that Mycroft had ensured it for him that everyone on the street were very informed of what was happening on the rooftop and that he was still on board with the plan, but it still did not relief him a bit.

Moriarty had finally reached the border where their lives were on stake, and Sherlock was hovering on the edge. Either he would fake his death and cause unbearable pain for everyone or the only people in the world who he cared about would die - well, not including Moriarty, but Sherlock wasn't sure if what they had counted as caring.

"Off you go, then", Moriarty requested next to Sherlock's ear, his voice sending shivers along the man's spine. Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "Your death is the only thing that's going to call of the killers", the criminal spoke. "I'm certainly not gonna do it."

Sherlock stared at the ground, frowning deep. He was beginning to be desperate - Moriarty's control on him was so hard he couldn't even understand it before this moment. He didn't want to disobey, but he certainly wasn't going to jump to his own death. 

"Could I have one moment?" Sherlock asked silently. "One moment of privacy, please?"

Moriarty looked at him for a moment before sighing and nodding. "Of course."

As the criminal disappeared behind Sherlock's back, the detective started to think. What would be his way out of this? It wasn't time to think about Moriarty anymore, it wasn't time to think about anything else but the way out of this.

Then it hit him.

A smile rose to his lips and a chuckle escaped his mouth. He heard Moriarty's footsteps stopping and started laughing. The criminal turned around to look at him with a frown.

"What?" he asked. "What is it? What did I miss?!"

Sherlock jumped back to the roof and almost danced to Moriarty. "You're not going to do it?" he said, repeating Moriarty's previous words. "So the killers can be called off, so there must be a recall code or a word or a number", he continued, walking around the man like a predator around it's prey. It was odd that it went this way, and it felt slightly uncomfortable. Sherlock shoved the feeling off of his mind and smirked to the criminal. "I don't have to die, if I've got you."

"Oh", Moriarty said and chuckled. "You think you can make me stop the order, you think you can do that?"

"Yes", Sherlock answered, stopping in front of Moriarty, "so do you."

"Sherlock, your big brother and all the king's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to", the criminal said with a mockering tone. Sherlock stepped closer so that there was only a few centimetres between their faces.

"Yes, but I'm not my brother, remember", he almost whispered.

His mind was filled with pictures of everything they'd done, everything they could still do if they weren't in this situation. It was heart-wrenching, torture, agony, to know that it had reached this point. Sherlock had to admit, shamefully, that he'd let Moriarty too close, he'd become so addicted that he was afraid of how he'd manage without him.

They stared at each other, their gazes telling everything the other one needed to know, and then Moriarty chuckled. "No, you're not", he said and nodded. "It's almost touching, isn't it?" he asked, glancing around them on the rooftop. "To know that all of this has come to an end."

Sherlock didn't answer. Oh, he would've wanted to, he would've wanted to badly, but he demanded himself to keep silent.

Moriarty nodded and closed his eyes for a moment, a smile caressing his lips. "I've loved this. Our little game. It's been a delight, hasn't it?" he asked, not waiting around for an answer. "But every fairytale reaches it's end, honey."

Silence took place and Moriarty nodded, looking into Sherlock's eyes with an odd look on his face - one that made Sherlock dubious and kind of scared about what was going to happen next.

"As long as I'm alive, you've got a way out", the criminal then said, frowning. "Well, good luck with that."

It all happened far too quickly; Sherlock frowned at the words an suddenly Moriarty was holding a gun, pointing it towards himself, and his finger pressed the trigger - a loud bang and Sherlock jumped back, horrified, and no it had not just happened, Jim Moriarty had not just shot himself, couldn't have -

Sherlock stared at the stream of blood flowing from the criminal's head and a maniac grin still on his lips the body lay on the roof. It felt like something was pressing against Sherlock's chest, it was new, it had never happened before, he needed air and oh-god-what-was-he-going-to-do-now.

It wasn't possible, it just wasn't.

Jim Moriarty couldn't be dead.

No.

Sherlock took a deep breath, turned away from the body and ran his fingers through his hair. He needed to think. He had to. He was alone now, there was no Moriarty. His fake death was to take part now, and fast, before everyone else around him would die, too.

It was time for him to act. He took out his phone, made his thoughts about Moriarty silence and dialled John's number.

The fall it really had been. And it would take a while for it to stop.


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully it was even somewhat worth reading! :) I'm planning on writing a sequel for it. I would love it if you could leave a comment about what you thought, but if you don't, it's perfectly fine. Thank you so much for reading! :)

Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?

It wasn't spoken by Moriarty's dark, playful voice, but it still had Sherlock shivering. Every single screen around England was now showing a picture of Jim Moriarty, playing the words over and over again.

For everyone else it was pure chaos, disaster, horrifying, but Sherlock grinned widely as he looked at the picture. John was standing next to him and knew exactly what Sherlock was thinking about. It had been two years since the last time they had seen the criminal, and the next time for Sherlock was getting closer.

He'd thought, actually thought, that the man had died on the rooftop at the same time that he'd committed his fake suicide. Still, he couldn't bring himself to be shocked about the events around him - of course Moriarty would come back. He always did.

Sherlock turned around and nodded to Mycroft. "I'll take it as my responsibility", he stated quickly before starting to walk towards the car that would bring him back to 221B Baker Street.

John and Mary followed him hurriedly and whispered something to each other - probably about Sherlock and Moriarty starting their little games again, starting to sneak into each others' apartments again. Frankly Sherlock didn't worry about it at all, and he would be pleased to start it all again even if it would piss John off far worse than anybody would've wished.

Sherlock sat to the back seat of the car and felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. He didn't have to look to see whom the message was from and smirked as he dug the device to his hand.

Why don't we meet up, honey? It's been such a long time. Lexington Street. Come and play. JM x

"I won't be going to Baker Street just yet", Sherlock informed the driver. He smirked widely as he put his mobile phone away and let John's questions flow right past his ears. "Lexington Street, please. John, I'll arrive a little later", he said calmly and turned to look out of the window.

 

*

 

Sherlock saw Moriarty instantly as he walked through the slightly dusk alley. The criminal mastermind was sitting on a bench, wearing his sunglasses and a black coat, smoking a cigarette as calmly as always.

The detective walked to him and sat besides him with his hands in his pockets. His heart started racing as he smelled the scent of the other man's cologne, so familiar and welcoming at the same time as dangerous. Just like Sherlock had always loved it.

Moriarty didn't speak, neither did Sherlock. The criminal passed a cigarette to Sherlock, who took it gladly and lit it up in the dark. The smoke spread inside his lungs comfortably and he closed his eyes for a moment.

"So, did you?" Moriarty asked after several minutes of silence. Sherlock turned to look at him, meeting with his dark gaze as the criminal had removed his sunglasses and stared into Sherlock's eyes with a burning look, one that implied he'd waited patiently for this moment for the whole time. "Miss me?"

Sherlock's gaze slid to Moriarty's smirk, mockering and playful as always, and he couldn't help but chuckle himself. He took a drag from his cigarette and raised an eyebrow to the criminal. "Of course."


End file.
